it shall not shut me down (for it wakes me up)
by Sassassassin
Summary: "I trust you. I want to task you with something. It's-it's not easy, but your judgement matters to me." "Anything." "I want you to find a husband for me." He felt his heart shatter into a million pieces - Sequel to none so blind (as those who will not listen). Podrick/Sansa after the war.
1. anything

_**Part I: anything**_

* * *

"I heard something rather…_odd_ last night," spoke Jon, after standing idly next to her for a few minutes, watching Ser Podrick and Arya train some rookies.

"Mh?" half-absently mumbled Sansa, riveted by her knight's muscles rippling under the strain of his movements. He was trying very hard to keep footing with Arya.

"I walked by your chambers and I heard you nearly shouting," he continued. Sansa's eyes widened comically, and her face turned the colour of her hair, and she coughed.

"_What_?" she croaked out, catching her breath.

"I thought you were in danger at first, and I nearly stormed inside your room," he added, side-eyeing her. Sansa merely stared in front of her, at loss. "Do not worry though, I did not. You didn't seem to be in _pain_."

"I…wasn't," she stuttered out, mortified. "Your chambers are on the other side of the castle, why were you walking by my hall?"

"I was speaking to Sam in the library," he shrugged.

It was silent for a moment, and Jon sighed, rubbing his temples. Sansa bit her lip, not knowing what to say to him. The sounds she was making were unmistakable, and no excuse could convince him that she was not writhing underneath her knight's doting ministrations. The only other thing she could tell him was that she was alone, and that in itself, was even more mortifying than the truth.

"I am going to be honest with you, I would have expected this kind of behaviour from Arya," he said, and Sansa felt annoyed by the sudden judgement he was showing; she was a _Queen_, for the love of the gods, she didn't need this, and certainly not from him, the same brother who did not even bat an eye at learning about Arya's improper affair with her now-husband.

"What do you mean by _this_ kind of behaviour?" she retorted, turning around and looking at him accusingly.

"This…_freedom_," he rephrased. "Not so long ago, you seemed pretty adamant about being proper. I never knew you to be so impulsive."

"Yeah well," she muttered, looking back at Podrick, "what has propriety ever done me? Besides, it may have been impulsive at the start, but everything after that was well thought-out."

"Well, you certainly seem happier," he said, following her eyes and looking at the knight. Feeling someone's eyes on him, Podrick looked up and noticed the two staring down at them and gave his queen a toothy grin. "You don't carry yourself with the weight of the seven kingdoms on your shoulders anymore. I hope he's treating you well."

"He is," she answered, smiling back at her knight. He certainly had helped her let go of some of her frustrations after a long day of ruling.

"Do you love him?" he asked, and when she looked back at him, she saw the sadness in his eyes at the mention of love.

"I-I don't know," she merely answered. "Even if I did, I wouldn't know what to do about it. He's a knight, and I have duties. I'm the Queen of the North."

"You may have duties, but you _love_ him, and he certainly loves you," he commented, his tone casual. "He's good to you, and you deserve that. Take it from someone who has lost his great love twice, don't let him get away."

"Daenerys is still out there, you know," she replied. "She's not gone."

"She's my _aunt_," he retorted, shuddering a little. "I may love her, but it feels…_wrong_."

"Well, if it's not something you are willing to pursue, you still have your other great love," she shrugged.

"And who might that be?" he asked absentmindedly.

"Tormund, of course," she smiled mischievously at him.

Jon laughed, throwing his head back, alerting the trainees who looked up at the ever-serious man, and Arya smiled at the happiness on her brother's face_._ Sansa winked at her, a promise that she would recount what they had talked about, and Arya nodded gratefully, going back to sparring with Podrick.

* * *

Podrick reached the council room, and found Ser Elwin guarding the door. He nodded at him, and the older man let him through.

"My Lady?" asked Podrick tentatively, peeking inside.

Sansa, seated at the head of the table, looked up and smiled at him, beckoning the young knight to join her. He walked up to the Queen, and stood near her, unsure of what to do.

"Pod," she said, her eyes going back to the letter she held in her hands and skimming the words carefully drafted on the parchment.

"You asked for me?"

"I did," she nodded, her eyes not leaving the letter. He saw her eyes harden at something she read and did not miss the deep sigh that she let out. "Would you please sit with me? I need your advice on something."

"Of course, your Grace," he replied, taking a seat next to her.

"We're alone," she said, finally tearing her eyes away from the paper and smiling at him. He felt his heart flip at that; no matter how many times she sought him for her nightly visits, it was her smile that never failed to make his heart flutter with joy. "You can call me Sansa, I've told you."

"Yes, Sansa," he teased. "I just always seem to forget."

They settled into a familiar silence, Sansa skimming over the letters and Podrick watching her, hoping that no one would barge in and interrupt their moment. It was times like these that Podrick felt guiltier; their relationship would not stay this way forever. One day, she may get married, and her husband would not like the familiarity they had with each other. He didn't know whether he would be able to live with the knowledge of her laying with another man after she stripped him from that privilege, all whilst being near her and protecting her as her dutiful knight every day. Perhaps he'd be the one whisked away by a lady he would someday marry, if he ever got over the feelings he nurtured towards his Queen.

_"I don't have feelings for Sa-Her Grace," muttered Podrick into his cup, tearing his eyes away from Sansa. "That's a preposterous idea."_

_"Feelings? What an odd word. I'd say you're more …crazy about your Lady than anything else," said Jaime._

_Podrick looked up from his ale, his eyes comically wide. "Wh-what? I'm not!"_

_Jaime huffed. "Please. I used to look at my sister with the same devotion. You'd do anything for her. Just, don't plunge a sword into her like I did -not that kind of sword anyway."_

_"I'm her knight, of course I would do anything for her. I've pledged my life!" he bellowed. "And don't speak of the Queen like that, it's tasteless and crude."_

_Jaime snorted, rubbing his aching stump underneath his golden hand. "We're in the South right now. I wouldn't exactly say that she's my Queen."_

_"She's a Queen nonetheless," insisted Podrick. "My Queen."_

_"The same vows that once held me back don't exist in the north, you know," replied Jaime, looking at Sansa conversing with Daenerys and Tyrion. "She may slip from your hands one day. She's a beautiful woman, and many want her. You should tell her, you never know what her answer might be."_

_Podrick hummed. The last time they had been at King's landing, Sansa had been miserable in the clutches of the lions. Now, she was seated near a dragon and a lion, but she seemed much more at ease._

_"I can't," he muttered. "She married twice, and they haven't really been…enjoyable experiences."_

_"I reckon you can make it enjoyable for her," winked Jaime, nudging him with his elbow._

_"You're disgusting," he groaned, but refused to deny it. Every time he laid with her, she seemed enjoyed every experience more than the last._

_"Don't think that I haven't learned about your magic cock. There's quite the gossip about it around the realm," grinned the blond man. "Granted, Bronn hasn't really been subtle. He boasts about your accomplishments at every turn. You'd have to teach me some tricks."_

_"So you can use them on Lady Brienne?" he retorted, elated by the shock on Jaime's face. "Don't think I haven't noticed the way you look at her either. A blind man could see it."_

_"I'm not going to deny it," shrugged the Lannister despite the rosy hue on his cheeks. His eyes darted to the blonde knight, and he sighed wistfully. "Ser Brienne is too honourable for a man like me. Not many hold the title of kingslayer and queenslayer."_

_"I don't think she cares much. She talks about you often, at Winterfell."_

_"She does?" Jaime said, quirking a brow._

_Podrick nodded. "She admires you."_

_"And I, her," mumbled the older knight._

"Podrick?"

He snapped back into reality, meeting the inquisitive eyes of his Queen, and smiled uneasily. "I-sorry, Sansa. I was thinking."

"It's alright," she replied, placing a warm hand on his arm. "I just wanted you to read this."

Podrick grabbed the letter she held up to him, and quickly skimmed over it, nearly groaning at the message. "Another proposal?"

Sansa, nodded, suddenly tired. "It's from the prince of Dorne. I didn't expect them to reach out to us."

"He seems to have a lot of admiration for you," he mumbled, reading the praises on the paper. He knew Sansa would not be swayed by them, but a political alliance sounded like quite the good idea… especially with the powerful Dornish royalty.

"What do you think of it?" questioned the redhead, tilting her head to look at her knight.

She relished the way his plump lips would purse, and his brow would furrow every time he would read something that annoyed him. He looked infinitely more handsome since he started keeping his beard a little longer than a simple stubble, and his hair long enough to tie it at the back. Sometimes she found it hard to focus during meetings, when all she wanted to do was to playfully tug at the ponytail he sported when he wanted the locks away from his eyes.

"I-it would be good for the north, there's no denying it," he replied, his words carefully measured. Sansa noted a hint of pain in his voice and felt a little guilty, knowing about the feelings he harboured for her.

"He's in line to be the next ruler of Dorne, you know," she said.

"He holds a lot of power," nodded Podrick, finally putting the letter down and looking back at her.

"Do you think he would relinquish his title to wed me?" prompted Sansa. "Do you think he would let our children be Starks and rule the north?"

"Ah," muttered the knight. "I wouldn't think so. He's the only heir left."

"Do you think I would relinquish _my_ throne to wed him?" she prodded further.

"I wouldn't think so, my Lady," he smiled, his chest expanding with relief. "The people love you, and there's never been a ruler greater than you."

"What do you think I should do next?"

"If-if you want to marry," he replied, avoiding her gaze, "it should be to a Lord with no titles to his name. A lord willing to take the Stark name, or let you keep your name."

"A Lord, you say?" she smiled coyly to his obliviousness. "I've married two Lords already. Lords often seek power, and I fear for my throne. I fear for the _north_, it had suffered enough at the hands of those who don't know how to treat the lands."

"He does not need to be king," said Podrick, swallowing the lump in his throat. _I wouldn't want to be king._

"It would be hard to find a man who is good and just, a man who wouldn't threaten my rule," she muttered softly, biting her lip. "I trust you, Podrick."

He felt his heart leap into his throat. _Was she…?_

"Sansa," he murmured, casting his wide eyes lower, fearing that he may pour his heart out to her.

"I trust you," she reiterated, grabbing his hand and linking their fingers. "I want to task you with something. It's-it's not easy, but your judgement matters to me."

"Anything," he replied, staring down at their linked hands, both hopeful and fearful.

"I want you to find a husband for me," she replied, and he felt his heart shatter into a million pieces. He sucked in a deep breath and removed his hand from within her grasp.

"Sansa, you don't _have_ to marry," he retorted. "I thought, after…after-"

"I know," she interrupted, her heart clenching as her now-free hand fell back to her side. "After Ramsay, I thought that I would never put myself through that again. That I would never marry again. But I am a Queen now, and it comes with certain responsibilities."

"But you don't have to marry," he insisted. "You can assign someone, anyone, to give you a child and you can legitimize him -or her- as a Stark!"

"And what would that make me?" she nearly bellowed. "I don't want to put my bastard child through that. I've seen the way Jon was treated all his life, I've treated him terribly myself, and I regret it every single day. Even if I legitimize my child, it wouldn't erase the looks and the disgust coming their way."

"Sansa-"

"Don't," she firmly asserted. "I'm not the same young girl I used to be. I've learned from my experiences, and I would have my husband's head on a spike before I let him lay a hand on me."

"I would never let him lay a hand on you," nearly groaned Podrick.

Her eyes softened at his determination, her ever-obliging knight, and she felt guilt at the way his resolve broke when she tasked him with finding her a husband. It was true; she trusted him with her life. She trusted him nesrly scarily, and would never dream of hurting him. She knew that he loved her, no man would ever put themselves through this if he did not love his lady so ardently, and so selflessly. For that, she was willing to selfishly break his heart to protect hers, because she cared for him just as much. She thought about asking him to wed her; she thought about it all night. But her duties as a Queen came before her heart; an alliance with a Lord was the better solution, and if she could not marry Podrick, she could at least task him with making the choice for her, this time willingly on her part.

"Would you do this?"

He sighed, and she felt her heart clench at the sadness and the turmoil in his eyes. "Of course. You should know by now that I would do anything for you."

She smiled softly and leaned over to place her lips on his. She cradles his face in her hands, and he groaned softly into her mouth. He kissed her back like it was the last time he could, and it certainly felt like it. Sansa softly moaned when he placed his hands on her hips, and she shivered with delight when his thumbs caressed her over her dress.

"Sansa," he uttered. "Someone might come in…"

"I don't care," she whispered back. "I asked Ser Elwin to watch the door and not let anyone come inside. I didn't want to get interrupted."

"My Lady," he gasped, tearing his mouth away. "He-he might think…_something_."

"Don't worry," she giggled, the sound like music to his ears. "I told him I had important matters to discuss with you. Now kiss me again."

And so he did, her ever-willing knight, pouring all his love into the gesture, and leaving her breathless and dishevelled. She ran her hands through his hair, freeing his locks from the ponytail he was sporting, and he groaned when she tugged at his black hair, the pressure against his scalp making him nearly delirious with pleasure. In the back of his mind, he knew that this, whatever they had, would not last forever, and he intended to take advantage of every situation he could.

He felt her soft hand trail down to his trousers, and he stiffened up with embarrassment when he realized that he was hard, in the middle of the _council room_. He recalled back before they had started indulging in each other, when he would watch her command the room with her strong voice, her eyes blazing with determination. When night came, he would take himself in his hand, and stroke his shaft to the thoughts of his Queen, until he peaked, her name a soft whimper past his lips. He loved to watch her rule, the ever-commanding queen, knowing that when night came, she would subject herself to him with blind trust. Despite having all the control in her life, she gave it all to him in the secrecy of her chambers, her eyes always darkened at his commanding voice and touch.

"Sansa," he muttered when her hand dipped inside his breeches. "Here?"

"Yes, here," she replied, her lips trailing down his neck. She had been taking more liberties with him, sometimes initiating the exploration of his body. He never felt more powerful -and yet more _helpless_\- than when she got on her knees, worshipping him with the softness of her mouth. She loved when he gathered her soft locks in a fist and whimpered praises into the night, nearly sobbing his devotion when she swallowed his seed. In the throes of passion, she threw all her inhibitions out of the window. It had taken a lot of patience from both of their parts. Her scars were still fresher than she anticipated, but he had guided her through all the exploration.

Her hand stroked him experimentally, and he sighed deeply when she bit his collarbone. It was another thing that had taken him by surprise; his Queen was a _needy_ woman, and sometimes, she liked it quite _rough_. The discovery surprised them both and seemed rather incongruent after everything that Ramsay had done to her. But he figured it was a way to weaponize her pain, to finally and consensually find pleasure in the act. Podrick was not the one to complain. However, having her during the day and in such a public place was _completely_ new.

When he was completely rigid, she let go of him, and hoisted her dress up her legs. He watched as she slipped her smallclothes down her legs, giving him quite the view when she spread them, and Podrick thanked the gods for whatever he did that let them be this gracious with him.

"I want you," she said, standing up with him in tow.

"Your wish is my command," he smiled back.

He pulled her up by the hips until she was seated at the edge of the table, and the brief thought that he would never be able to be in this room without thinking of his Queen spread open on this table crossed his mind.

He brought a hand to her centre and softly caressed her, his brows reaching his hairline when he noticed how wet she was, and she groaned. "Please, no waiting."

He bit his lips, nodding absentmindedly, and grabbed himself. He placed his cock at her entrance, and in one swift move, completely sheathed himself in her. Day by day, it felt more like home whenever they coupled. He knew every inch of her.

"Faster," she croaked out, wrapping her arms and legs around him and kissing him deeply.

He closed his eyes, basking in the moment and increasing the rhythm of his thrusts. Soon enough, she was but a whimpering mess in his arms, muttering incoherently into every inch of skin her mouth could reach. Podrick nearly teared up at the way she looked; beautiful and otherworldly. If he was successful in his task, he would never be able to see her unravel in his arms. He selfishly decided to bask in the moment, and take everything he could.

Soon enough, she shuddered around him, and he followed suit, his head in the crook of her neck and her hands in his hair.

"Thank you," she whispered into his ear.

"Anything for you, Sansa," he replied, smiling sadly into her skin. _I love you._


	2. lost

_**Part II: lost**_

* * *

"You did _what_?" shouted Arya, her mouth hung open.

"I asked him to find me a husband?" reiterated the Queen, suddenly feeling small.

Arya rubbed the area between her brows and sighed deeply. "You're an idiot, Sansa. You're going to _crush_ him. I hope for your sake that you're ready to face the consequences of what you just did."

"There will be no consequences," she said through gritted teeth. "I trust him to find me someone perfectly suitable."

"What about love?" retorted the shorter Stark. "You've always been going on and on about finding love, the perfect prince. You've been married off twice already, I thought you didn't want to marry again, and certainly not for some stupid idea of duty!"

"Look who's talking now," replied Sansa, her voice cold. "You were the one going on and on about a lady's duties to give an heir!"

Arya's composure faltered, and she was back to the emotionless assassin she was. "It's not the same."

"No, you're right," laughed Sansa humourlessly. "It's infinitely worse."

"How is it worse?" said Arya, suddenly sad and tired. "You haven't lost a child, Sansa. You have the chance to marry a man devoted to you, and to have children and raise them to be the kings and queens of our _home_."

Sansa felt guilty. Arya was right, at least she could have children unlike her barren sister. "Arya, I-I know. But he's a knight. Marrying a lord will be better for the north."

"The north has never been better than within your hands," nearly pleaded Arya, grabbing her sister's hands in hers. "You can be selfish for once, Sansa. You don't need to marry a lord."

"I've been selfish enough by taking him to bed every night," croaked Sansa, her voice breaking. "I see the way he looks at me, Arya. He loves me, and-and I can't do it to him anymore."

"Sansa, you can't see what I see, but you look at him the same way," whispered Arya, looking into her sister's beautiful blue eyes. Countless times, she had been envious of their brightness and their colour, reminding her of the sky. But now, they looked infinitely sadder than she had ever seen them.

"I've made up my mind."

"You say that I am stubborn, but look at you," groaned Arya, throwing her hands up in the air.

Sansa smiled softly at her sister's antics. She knew Arya was right, and yet…

"We're two birds of a feather, dear sister."

* * *

"I'm going to retire for the night," said Sansa, yawning softly into her hands. Podrick smiled at the endearing sight. "Would you please accompany me?"

"Of course, my Lady," he replied, promptly following her out of the library.

They walked through the halls, passing by the kitchens. The smell of the feast they held in honour of the victory at the battle of Winterfell still lingered in the air, and Sansa had trouble believing it was four years ago that all those events transpired. It felt like yesterday that Theon had come back north to pledge for her, and then die to protect her brother for Arya to kill the Night's King and save them all.

"What did you think of Lord Baryn?" he asked. "You seemed to be getting along with him."

Sansa thought for a moment, thinking back to the young man Podrick had presented to her during the feast. "Charming, certainly much better than the last three Lords. How did you come to know him?"

The knight nodded, smiling at her gibe. "He is quite the charming man. We drink at the same tavern sometimes. Bronn- I mean _Lord_ Bronn presented him to me last time he visited the north. They've worked closely together a few times."

"I wonder why you haven't suggested the Lord of Highgarden as a spouse," she mused, eyeing him. "He's still unmarried, last I heard."

Podrick nearly went green with disgust. "_Him_? He's wretched, my Lady. He'd probably visited every whorehouse in the entirety of Westeros. I can't imagine how many illnesses he had subjected himself to. I would rather die than have you wed him."

"I reckon he's treated you well," she laughed.

He grumbled under his breath, recalling the endless occasions the Master of Coins had mocked him. "You have a strange conception of what well means, Sansa."

"Besides," she continued, ignoring his snide comment, "you've also visited a lot of them, _Ser Payne._"

Podrick reddened. "My Lady! Only once, I swear on my life, and I didn't even pay for it!"

"They must have liked you," she mused. "If you treated them as well as you treat me, no wonder they sang praise of your prowess."

"I've treated you infinitely better, Sansa," he replied, shy but smug.

"Then I better get on the roof and start singing as well," she laughed, her face hotter.

They walked the rest of the way in silence, their fingers sometimes brushing lightly, and Sansa felt the urge to grab his hand and feel its warmth against her skin. Before she could contemplate the thought further, they reached her chambers, and she hastily opened the door, peeking inside to see if any servants were lingering. "Come in?"

He looked at her, his eyes comical, and grinned apologetically. "I don't think that's wise, my Lady."

"Why is that?" she quirked a brow.

"You are looking for a husband, and I don't want your reputation tarnished before you wed. Lord Baryn would certainly not appreciate knowing that his friend is bedding the woman he's courting," he shrugged, using all the self-retrain he could muster to bow. "Goodnight, your Grace."

She bit her lip, leaning against the door. "Goodnight, Ser."

She shut it behind her, and leaned against it, a heavy sigh escaping her parted lips. She listened to his retreating steps, hoping that he may change his mind and turn back, but after a few moments, it was clear that he had made up his mind about their improper relationship. She could not blame him; men may be fools when in love, but there was only so much a heart could take. Besides, he was right. Lord Baryn was a great candidate, and Podrick vouched for his character. After all, she was the one who asked him to find her a spouse, and he was merely honouring his promise.

That night, she went to bed with the thought of her knight's frame atop her heated body, and her slick fingers caressing her folds.

* * *

"This is lovely."

"Thank you, Lord Baryn," smiled Sansa, pouring a generous cup of tea for the young man seated in front of her.

Lord Baryn was one of the many northern Lords who had been lucky enough by the grace of the gods to survive the dead. His house had sent many men to aid them in the battle. Lord Baryn had not been one of them, for he had been escorting his late mother to the south, where her family resided. She succumbed to an unknown illness on their way back north, as he had informed her two meetings ago. He had been devoted to his mother, his love pouring out through his words when he spoke of her.

"You may call me Alton, your Grace," he said humbly.

"And you may call me Lady Stark," she smiled, selfishly holding on to her name.

He smiled back, biting his tongue at the oddity of her title.

"Tell me, Alton," she started, taking a seat in front of him. "How important is your name to you?"

He raised a brow at the odd question, and Sansa surveyed him. He was a very handsome man, oddly northern despite spending most of his life in the south with his mother. Until recent years, he had accompanied her for long periods of times to the south. She had a very fragile health, and the cold did not suit her.

He had dark brown hair, and hazel eyes, and his skin was tanned. He shaved his face every day, from what she could tell, and there was no hint of a shadow on his full cheeks. She thought it made him look childlike, but she was at least thankful that he was taller than her, for she was tired of constantly looking down at people.

"A name is just a name, Lady Stark," he shrugged, sipping at the unsweetened tea. He grimaced and grabbed a cube of sugar, gently adding it into the drink and stirring it slowly. _At least he had manners_, she thought.

"I have to disagree with you," she countered, nonetheless polite. "Would your brother have sent men to aid us in the battle had Winterfell not been ruled by a Stark?"

He thought for a moment, before nodding slowly. "You are right, My Lady."

"Lady Stark," she corrected him, a flash of her knight's face passing through her mind.

"Lady Stark," he reiterated. "When the Boltons had Winterfell, he refused to bend the knee. The north knows that the true rulers are the Starks."

"Then a name is important, Alton," she smiled, her hands carefully placed on the edge of the table.

"Only when we want it to be," he replied. "The Baryn name-it's important to my brother, like it was to my father. But I am the fourth in line to rule our house. It matters as little to me as it would to any peasant."

"I highly doubt that," she smiled at him. "A peasant would not have had the chance to be seated with me, being considered to wed the Queen in the north."

"If that ever came to happen, I assume that you would want me to relinquish my name," he said, more as an affirmation than as a question.

"No," she calmly replied, nearly spelling out the word. "I have had my name taken away from me too many times to subject anyone else to it. You would keep the name, I just want the children to be Starks."

He nodded understandingly, and Sansa felt happy to be discussing this sensitive matter with a rational young man. Any other would have lashed out, defending their names and titles.

"It's unusual for a woman to keep her name, and for the line to continue through the mother," he commented. "Are you certain that the other Lords would respect your wishes, Lady Stark?"

"They don't have a choice," she smiled back, gleeful.

"My father would be rolling in his grave right now," he laughed. "He put so much importance into the Baryn name."

Before she could reply, the door to the terrace opened, and Podrick came barging in, holding an envelope in his hand.

"My Lady," he interrupted, nearly out of breath. "I apologize for barging in, but you received a letter. I would not have interrupted you if it weren't from Lord Baratheon."

"Ah," she replied, surprised. "Thank you Pod."

She stood up and approached him, grabbing the letter and undoing the seal. She read the words carefully, huddled with her knight, and Lord Baryn watched the whole exchange with a critical eye.

"Gods," she groaned out in the most unladylike manner. "He's visiting, and he's asking me not to tell Arya."

Podrick laughed, his arm brushing Sansa's, and Alton quirked a brow at the contact. He noticed that those two were much closer than any normal knight and his Queen, and if he chose to believe the few gossips he heard since he'd been staying at the castle, the Queen had chosen him as her nightly consort. But she seemed to be a little too proper for such activities. However, watching them interact with each other every passing day, perhaps there was some truth in what he had heard.

"I should be going, My Lady," he tried again, alerting them. They looked at him, guilty at being caught in their own little world.

"It's Lady Stark," insisted Sansa, once again. "Thank you for sitting with me today."

"It's been my absolute pleasure," he replied, walking up to her.

He grabbed her small gloved hand in his, and gently placed his lips on the back, looking up into her eyes expectedly. But despite her soft smile, he saw nothing but the coldness in her piercing blue eyes. They did not soften the way they had every time she spoke to Ser Payne, and her smile was not as sincere -it did not reach her eyes. He did not fail to notice the way Podrick went rigid next to her, standing upright and looking not at him, but over his head, refusing to acknowledge the contact.

He stood up, and cleared his throat, suddenly feeling nauseous; the Queen's heart was already taken, that much he knew. There was no use in trying to win her heart before they wed. His mother always spoke to him about the importance of love, having been forced to wed his late father. He was thankful that he was not the heir to their name, for the same expectations did not fall upon his shoulders. Sometimes, he even guiltily thanked the gods that his father was not alive to force him into a loveless marriage, and Alton was not the one who was going to embark in one.

He left them standing there, feeling lighter, and smiled brightly, inwardly wishing them the best, but not without hearing the knight whisper the Queen's name as he turned the corner.


End file.
